


The Gateway

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Mystery, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: The case began inexplicably and ended the same way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zaniida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/gifts).



> So, Zaniida is responsible for this attempt at something scary or spooky for October, elbows, you're good with this one, no death or dismemberment in this fic...maybe. 
> 
> I hope to have it tied up by the end of the month. Wish me luck and fingers crossed that it doesn't blow up like a few of my others have.
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment, I would appreciate the nudge.  
> As always, special thanks to oddgit for the beta! You're the best!

“We’ve received a new number.” Finch taped the photograph of a familiar face on the clear glass panel instead of the customary unknown individual. 

John walked in the library and could see it in Harold’s expression before he even got close to the picture. The look of disbelief.

He added a second in addition to the first. John got there as he smoothed the tape down on the photograph of an old house, all by itself set out in a forest of trees… secluded.

“What the hell Finch?” John couldn’t believe his eyes as he looked upon the face of a very well-known and villainous former enemy staring back at him in all his customary wry and restrained glory.

“Well, to be honest, I'm a bit nervous,” Harold replied anxiously. “I mean yes we both know that John Greer is dead so there’s no way this could actually be accurate, but the machine doesn’t make mistakes John.”

“So, what in the hell does that mean, then?” John stared at the photos while his brain tried to figure out some logical explanation that was beyond him.

Harold shook his head as he too stared at the panel in shock. “It’s quite perplexing, I must say.”

“So, what… or how do we know what to do?” John asked, confused also, “and what’s the deal with the house? We don’t normally get an address with the number.”

“Yes, and I think that’s where we’ll have to start.” Harold moved back to his desk and sat down. He pulled up a few windows that had images of the old house from only three angles and they were fuzzy at best.

“I’ve managed to pull this from an old archive from the tiny town of Gateway, New York.” Harold enlarged the pictures and continued. “Population…” He turned to look at his partner before finishing, “one.”

“One?” John reaffirmed, “I’ve never heard of it. I wasn’t even aware that you could have a town of one before.”

“Yes well,” Harold brought up the miniscule amount of information he had on the location. “Apparently you can.” He zoomed in on a small ad that had been printed about the property from the 1920’s, with no mention of a house. It advertised 8500 acres of prime land, standing by, ready for construction of any kind. 

“I really am at a loss here. The pictures of the house have no documented evidence to tie it to the property. Not only does this listing lack any mention of a building, it also lacks any names associated with it. It’s as if it disappeared from the world,” Harold went on soberly, “or as if it never existed in the first place.”

John looked at Harold with eyebrows raised. “That’s just crazy, Finch.”

“Nevertheless, it's in upstate NY and I think we’re going to have to take a trip Mister Reese. I don’t know about you but I’m finding this little mystery interesting, very interesting indeed.”


	2. Chapter 2

The two men wasted no time before they were in the town car to begin their journey.

John got behind the wheel and Finch had his laptop open before Reese even had the car in gear. He was eager to get back into trying to find any more information on the case.

“Perhaps the surrounding area has something I’ve missed somehow; the closest township is very small as well. I’ll look through their archival information again, just to be sure.”

It was three hours into the drive and Finch still couldn’t find any more information on the property or the house.

“Look, Finch, don’t take this wrong but there’s always a first time for everything,” John began a bit hesitantly. He was pushing it with the subject and he knew it, but he had to voice his concern about having so little evidence to go on with the case. 

With Harold’s almost nonexistent confirmation in finding anything more than he had, not to mention the fact that John Greer was most certainly dead, John was finding it difficult not to question the intel. “How sure are you about the Machine’s infallibility?” 

And there it was… Finch’s adverse reaction.

“Mister Reese,” he began sternly. “The Machine is never wrong. Whatever is happening here has to have a logical explanation and I’m sure we’ll know when we find it and everything comes together.”

“Harold, I know how sure you are about what you built and I don’t mean any offense... I’m just asking the question for my own peace of mind. Besides that, we’re treading into unknown territory in more ways than one here... it puts me on edge."

Harold took a deep breath and apologized, “I’m sorry John. This whole thing is just irksome and nerve-racking. I’ve never seen anything like it before and it’s really getting under my skin as well.”

Finch looked up from the laptop and surveyed the area on his side of the two-lane highway they'd been driving along for a while. They were now out in the middle of nowhere and hadn’t seen another car for miles.

“According to what I could determine from satellite imagery, we should be coming up to a turn off just up ahead approximately two miles from here. It’s going to be a dirt road on the right. It seems to be the only way in or out of the property. I don’t think it should be too difficult once we’re on that road to find the house, do you?”

“We’ll see,” John slowed down and looked for the road. 

A minute later they saw the signpost up ahead in the distance. It was made of wood and the carved letters were just visible through the age and weathering it had been subjected to over many, many decades apparently. 

Gateway – Population 1. 

“I guess no one bothered to have the state issue a metal sign,” John remarked as he slowed down further.

“There…!” Finch pointed excitedly to the opening of a narrow dirt road just wide enough for two vehicles to pass, overhung with trees. John slowly made the turn then sped up fractionally.

“I don’t like this Finch, it’s… spooky.” John scanned both sides of the road as they made their way further into the wooded area. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

“Spooky?” Harold snickered. “It’s just some old trees, John.”

“A lot of old trees Harold,” he replied gruffly. “Keep an eye out.” John’s mood changed to high alert instantly. “I’m telling you, something’s not right here.”

“Yes, alright.” Harold looked at the cobweb lined trees and foliage as they drove further down the road and began to feel it himself. “I see what you mean… it is quite atmospheric isn’t it?”

“And then some.” 

They rode on silently for a while and took in the surrounding area without either of them seeing any signs of life, “I don’t know Finch, this whole area looks abandoned. I mean there’s absolutely nothing out here but woods. It’s desolate.”

“Yes, perhaps you’re right after all. We should be nearing the edge of the property line.” Harold pointed ahead of them, “Yes there it is.” The road ran straight into a dead end. The forest of trees in front of them was now impenetrable. 

Reese stopped the car and put it into park. He looked at his partner pointedly for his thoughts on the matter since they hadn't seen anything up to this point.

“I’m puzzled John.” Harold was at a loss and it was eating at him. 

John just shook his head.

“We have to go back; there’s nothing here Finch.”

“Well let’s just step out of the car for a moment and take a look around for any signs of recent activity before we call it a day. I'd hate to have wasted all our time coming out here for nothing.” 

John wasn’t in the mood to argue about it and nodded in agreement. “Just don’t go far enough in there to lose sight of the road Finch.”

“I don’t particularly like spiders John, you needn't worry about me going through there if it entails having to deal with any arachnids, I promise you that.”

John left the car running as they got out and walked along the tree line. They were searching for something, anything that could indicate someone had been in the area recently. 

The trees were very close to the sides of the dirt road and hung high above it, arching overhead, and acting as a canopy of meshed tree limbs and climbing vines. 

The light that had been able to get through was rather dim and though it was still early, the daylight seemed to be losing the battle to infiltrate the gnarled expanse above them. 

The further they'd traveled down the road, the darker it seemed to have gotten around them. By the time they had stopped it seemed to be more like dusk than just after noon. 

John turned on his earpiece and listened to Harold trudging through the thick branches on the other side of the road, as he scanned the area on his side. He opened the channel to his partner.

“I don’t see a damn thing out here Harold; what do you say we call it quits and get the hell out of here before one of us gets bitten by something?”

John stopped and looked around everywhere and was ready to go. “Harold?” He tapped his ear again. 

He could no longer hear Finch on his end of the comm. He didn’t hear anything as a matter of fact.  
No birds, no insects...

Nothing. 

He turned abruptly and headed back to the car, hoping that Finch would be there and he wouldn’t have to go searching for his stubborn partner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes searching for Finch

John found the car, still running just as he’d left it but there was no sign of Finch. ' _Damn it Harold,'_  he cursed under his breath.

He could see where Harold went into the woods. He walked over to the disturbed foliage and listened intently for any kind of noise whatsoever. He scanned the area for any movement.

“Finch!?” he yelled into the trees and waited for a few seconds.

Surely Harold wouldn’t have gone very far and chance snagging or tearing his bespoke suit. And with what he’d said about spiders, John was surprised he had gone in there at all.

He called out for him again as loud as he could, “Harold.” Still, nothing but silence so then he whistled as loud as he could four times, in hopes that if he’d somehow gotten turned around in there maybe he’d hear it and have a direction to latch on to.

He went back to the car to shut it off and pocket the keys so he could begrudgingly go after his exasperating partner.

John leaned in to take the keys out of the ignition and noticed on the display that the time read two fifteen. That couldn’t be right... He looked at his watch instinctively, wondering why the time jumped as it did inside and saw that it correlated with the display.

Somehow two hours of time seemed to have flown by without him realizing it. He shook his head in disbelief and still wouldn’t have believed it possible but the gas gage indicated that it was lower now than when they’d parked.

Still not quite convinced, he scanned the inside of the car for any sign or indication that anything had been disturbed and saw that the laptop along with everything else was still inside.

He opened the screen and it powered up instantly. The internal clock displayed two fifteen as well. There was no question about it now. Two hours had just vanished from his life with no logical explanation as to how… or what had happened.

The light was now beginning to darken to a greater degree and more rapidly.

John got out of the car and checked around for any footprints that shouldn’t be there and when he found none, he locked the doors and opened the trunk, removing the heavy duty flashlight and the extra handgun he kept hidden under the spare tire.

He checked the gun and inserted the clip into the butt of the Sig-Sauer, chambered a round and put the safety on.

Now it was time to find Harold and figure out what in the hell just happened.

#

He went back to the exact spot that Harold entered the tree line. He’d had his fair share of tracking people in the past and that knowledge and experience would come in handy now.

He could clearly see the trajectory his partner had taken and stepped into Harold’s footsteps easily.

John could see just how useful and relevant his training had been and was grateful for it. He progressed further inside the thick underbrush and trees for a few dozen yards until he came to what appeared to be the end of the trail.

“What the?” John looked around his dim surroundings and turned the flashlight on to better see where exactly the clues had stopped. He found absolutely nothing more.

“Finch!” He yelled in all directions. He was unsure of himself now.

The adrenaline and distress of not finding his partner and what was happening around him was beginning to find its way into his bloodstream to unnerve him.

“Harold, answer me damn it!” He pushed his way almost blindly inside the forest. He was practically sprinting through the thick brush with no regard for the biting sting of tiny cuts to his face and hands from the thorns and briars he was rushing headlong through.

John stopped suddenly, out of breath. “Jesus, just calm down.” He chastised himself.

He looked behind him to the trail he just made from his graceless and haphazard lumbering to find there wasn’t anything that indicated he’d passed through at all. It was as if the trees had swallowed up any evidence of his presence.

It was getting very dark now and John was becoming more anxious by the minute. Not only was Finch lost… it seemed as though he was now lost as well.


	4. Chapter 4

John looked high above him. There was very little sky he could see through the canopy of massive twisting tree branches and winding vines.

The isolated glimpses of light he caught here and there gave him no hope as they were now becoming too dark to differentiate from the obscure color of the deep-rooted trees. 

It was starting to become very dark now and all John could think about was Harold. He had to move; he had to get it together and find his partner quickly, nothing else mattered at the moment except getting Harold home safe. 

The flashlight lit his way and he called out continuously for him as he broke through the increasingly thick and gnarled trees and bushes obstructing his path.

He looked at his watch again. It was now five fifteen; another three hours had disappeared when it only felt like minutes and now he could hardly see the landscape around him. 

What in the hell was happening to the time? He started to sweat. He took a swig of one of the two bottled waters he had stuck in his coat pockets and again thought about his partner.

Finch would be thirsty too, he thought. Damn Finch and his curiosity. John smiled, he couldn’t help himself as he thought about his infuriatingly stubborn partner.

He looked all around himself as he put the cap back on the bottle and spied a light just ahead of him. 

He couldn’t be sure what kind of light it was, but he had to find out. Maybe Harold had found the source, he hoped so anyway. He continued to push his way through the woods.

As John pressed through the increasingly dense thicket and the darkness that now surrounded him; he finally saw from where the light originated. 

There was a clearing about the size of a very small baseball field and an old two-story house sat dead center of it. 

The surrounding glade was well manicured as far as John could tell in the shadowy background and the light he saw coming from the house’s front window was illuminating the porch just outside the front door.

This was it. It was the house from the photograph. He found it. Now the hope was that Finch had found it first and was safe inside.

#

John took the three steps up to the door as quietly as he could. 

He got closer and tried to look inside the front window but couldn’t see very much through the dirt and grime that caked the outside of it.

Then he saw movement. He could tell that there was a fireplace by the flames that were casting flickering images through the filthy glass. 

A person had then obstructed the view of it as they moved forward in what he could only guess was an armchair. Then he heard the voices of two people and craned his hearing to try and decipher what was being said. 

It was no use, but he knew that one of the two people was definitely Finch, he would know that perfect intonation and style of speaking anywhere. 

Against his better judgment and not able to help himself, John knocked on the door.

#

John knocked again after waiting a few seconds, his free hand on the gun in the waistband against his back, ready for trouble.

The voices abruptly stopped but no one answered the door and John was becoming increasingly nervous. 

He peered through the window again, hoping to see movement of some kind. 

Nothing happened and he was tired of waiting; he turned the old doorknob and the latch retracted, and he was able to push the door open freely.

John stood in the open doorway and gave the entrance a quick look. Seeing and hearing no one, he walked inside cautiously.

There was a living area just off to the right of the foyer and what looked like a bedroom off to the left. The hallway was too dark to see what was ahead of him but he was sure there were at least a few other rooms judging by the size of the old house from the outside.

He walked to the doorway of the living room on the right and stopped. He looked inside and indeed saw a fireplace lit with expertly placed logs and embers flickering inside the large hearth steadily. 

Two large wingback armchairs faced the gentle blaze while a coffee table sat between them. 

Two cups and saucers sat on the table with a pot of what John guessed was tea. John could plainly see Finch’s left forearm resting on the arm of the chair to the right of the fireplace.

He couldn’t see his face but he recognized his suit coat.

“Harold…?” John tried. 

Nothing. He moved over hesitantly, looking around everywhere as he got closer to his friend. 

“Finch?” he came upon him cautiously and walked around to face him.

Harold was staring into the fire, oblivious it seemed to his presence, sitting perfectly still with a look of vacancy that turned John’s blood cold.


	5. Chapter 5

John was scared to death, Harold’s lack of response was disconcerting. He leaned over and put his hand on his partners shoulder and looked him in the eyes obstructing his view of the fire, he squeezed gently, “Finch?”

Harold blinked a few times. John blocking the flames from his sight seemed to have helped and Harold came around to the present. Confused and disoriented, at least he was responsive. “Mister Reese…?” Harold looked into the eyes of a man he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. “Where was I?” he asked dazedly.

“What do you mean Harold? What happened to you, who were you talking to just a minute ago?” John could convey his own experiences after he’d made sure Harold’s wellbeing was established and his recollections were accounted for. 

Things were extremely peculiar and the situation was becoming increasingly impossible to anticipate. They needed to get to the bottom of what was happening around them and fast so they could get the hell out of there and back to normalcy again.

Harold looked over to the empty chair beside him and shook his head in bewilderment, “We were talking… and having tea and he just, poof… vanished into thin air.”

John could see the disquiet in Harold’s expression, “Who Finch? Who were you talking to?”

He looked back at John and answered with an eerie calmness as he said the name, “Greer, Mister Reese. I was speaking with John Greer.”

John was taken aback and replied, startled, “That can’t be Finch… John Greer is dead.”

“I know that John. And he knows it too… he told me so.” 

Harold was still in a daze as he tried to remember what happened, John could see it in his eyes and felt sorry for him. The utter incomprehension of a brilliant mind trying his best to make sense of the insensible.

John shook his head in disbelief, “Finch, dead is dead. You don’t get to come back from that.” 

Harold nodded and turned his attention back to the fireplace and gazed into it pensively. 

The faraway look was back in his expression and John found his own eyes drawn to it, squinting into the flames himself. He mentally shook himself and broke away from the mesmerizing sight and took the bottle of water out of his pocket and put it to Harold’s lips.

“Finch! Look at me… drink this.” Harold tore his eyes away from the almost hypnotic flames and took a sip of the tepid water. He sat back into the chair and regarded the table.

“John, see the tea there?” Reese looked down at the table and nodded. 

“Yes, I see it Harold, what about it?”

Finch leaned forward and picked up his cup and wrapped his hand around it. “Here, feel it.” Harold forced the cup into John’s hand and Reese winced from the heat.

“I didn’t make this John… Greer did.” Harold shook his head again in incredulity, “He was just here and disappeared in an instant, I’m … I can’t… explain it.”

“Look, Harold, we’re getting the hell out of here!” John put the teacup down and encouraged Harold to move. “This is just too damn strange, we gotta go. We have to let this case go and get back to the city.”

“What time is it?” Harold asked wearily. “I feel as though I haven’t slept in days. I’m not sure if I can walk very far John.”

John looked at his wrist and was shocked yet again. “It’s 10:15. That can’t be right; it’s as if the time has been sucked away from us somehow.” Another five hours had passed since John had been in the woods, yet it only seemed mere minutes to him.

Harold looked at his own watch and then pulled out his cell phone, “The time according to what I have also says it’s 10:15.” Harold shook his head, “I just can’t understand it John, unless…” Harold broke off in thought.

“Unless we’ve been drugged somehow…” John finished. 

“Yes but how?” Harold replied, “When could something like that have happened? They would have to have access to us directly and no one knows about the library, where we sleep or anything else.” 

John shook his head, “That can’t be the answer Finch, there has to be another explanation.” John was convinced that it was unlikely that something like that could have happened to one of them much less both.

They looked at each other in shared bafflement then looked out of the front window. It was very dark now, pitch black outside.

“John, even if I could walk that far... it’s much too dark to be traipsing through the forest at night. Besides, unless you have any idea how we got here... we don’t have any idea where we are, much less how or where we’ll find the car.”

John shook his head again, “No, I have no idea either and I didn’t see any signs of a car or even a driveway outside did you?” 

Finch looked at him and smiled nervously. “I don’t even know how I got here John. I was looking around the tree line, keeping the road in my periphery the whole time until I looked away for just a split second and found myself sitting here in this chair with Greer pouring me a cup of Earl Grey.”

“That was just a few moments ago and then he vanished, just like a magic trick.” 

John took a deep breath and looked around the room again in greater detail. The walls were made of dark wood paneling and the floor was hardwood and well worn. The paintings that hung throughout the room were of the Victorian style in subject and theme and projected the English countryside, with rolling hills and valleys. The mantle above the fireplace was bare save one item. A framed eight by ten portrait of a man sitting on a bench in front of a large house sat in the center of the dusty length of wood. John took the picture and studied it for a moment then passed it to Harold.

“I don’t even recall now what we were speaking about,” Harold remarked absently as he took it from John’s hand. He studied it for a few moments then handed it back to John to replace it above the hearth.

“What do you think?” John asked.

“Well, it clearly isn’t anyone I know… it looks to be set in Europe by the architecture and landscape. A manor house of some kind from the looks of it. An old one.” Harold turned his gaze back to the fire then narrowed his focus.

“John…” he remarked concerned, “wasn’t the fire brighter a moment ago?”

John then noticed that the already low lit interior of the room had gotten dimmer and he turned to see for himself that the logs were all but burned out now. He turned the flashlight on to illuminate the room and Finch leaned forward and picked up the teapot.

Harold took a sharp intake of breath as he put his hand to the porcelain.

“Finch, what are you doing, don’t burn yourself!” John admonished him.

Harold looked up at his partner in alarm and held it out for John to take.

John took the pot from him and realized that Harold wasn’t responding to the heat, he was reacting to the coolness of the vessel. 

“That can’t be…” Harold whispered. “It was hot just a minute ago, you felt it yourself.”

John nodded, “Yeah, we have to get out of here as soon as humanly possible. What the hell is going on?” John peered around the room again with the beam of the flashlight.

“Whatever is happening John, we have to stay together.”

“Agreed, do you think you’re up to checking out other parts of the house?”

“Are you out of your mind? Shouldn’t we just stay in one place until daylight then try and find our way back to the car?” Harold was nervous, to say the least, and if he wasn’t so tired and physically drained... he may have taken the suggestion a little more cavalierly. 

He had always loved a good mystery but his memory lapse and disappearance of time had him much more nervous than he would normally be.

“I would ordinarily agree with you, Finch, but I’m guessing that if there was anyone else in the house with us... we would have known it by now.”

As if on cue, the two men clearly heard footsteps in the hallway. 

They looked at each other in alarm and John motioned for Harold to follow him while he pulled his gun out and took the safety off. They quietly made for the doorway, putting their backs against the wall... they both held their breath and listened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My plans are to finish this by Halloween. I'll need a lot of luck accomplishing that goal since I'm leaving town tomorrow until November 1st and won't have access to my laptop full time. I hope that I can give it the ending I hope for and to everyone's satisfaction. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated. Thank you all for taking the time to read my attempt to entertain you.

John turned the flashlight off immediately upon hearing the footsteps coming down the hall.

They waited for someone to appear in the doorway as they stood there, hidden in the darkness of the room. Harold could practically feel a mixture of professional calm and trepidation flowing from John as soon as he went into protection mode.

John was ready to act but as quickly as they had heard the sound, it disappeared and they heard nothing more. Whoever had been walking toward them should be right there... right at them. The steps were clear and unwavering and sounded as though they had stopped just outside the doorway.

John turned to look at Harold in concern through the low flickering light of the room.

Finch shrugged his shoulders and John put his finger to his lips motioning to him that he was going to go and find out what had made the sound and that Harold needed to be quiet and wait there.

Harold nodded that he understood and took a deep breath as John slowly leaned around the doorframe to look for the source of the footsteps. There was nothing. Not a soul in sight.

He moved into the hallway cautiously, relying on his experience and skill to alert him if someone had be hiding in the shadows.

He crossed the entry and headed for the bedroom that was straight across from where Harold stood, just on the other side of the wall.

Harold moved to take up John’s position and watched him move stealthily to the other side of the foyer.

He then kept his eyes focused further down the dark hallway in case someone came out of the shadows unexpectedly and he could warn John of their presence.

John stopped short of the doorway before he entered the almost pitch black darkness of the bedroom. He moved to where he could look inside without showing too much of himself and peeked around the doorframe guardedly. The only light visible in the room came from the dying embers of the fire across the hall, from the living room.

He had the flashlight ready to turn on as he took the next step, hopefully blinding anyone that might been in hiding, waiting for him.

As soon as he had crossed the threshold and entered the darkness of the room the electricity came on suddenly, illuminating the entire inside of the house in an eerie warm glow.

John heard Harold’s sharp intake of breath from the other room and supposed the unexpected brightness caught him off guard as well. His own eyes adjusted to the low light of his surroundings.

The bedroom was sparse save for a full sized bed covered with a cream-colored blanket and two pillows at the headboard. An old mirror hung on the wall above a chest of drawers with a pitcher and wash basin sitting on the top of it. To the right side of the bed, a small nightstand with an antique desk lamp was the only other furniture in the room.

The walls were wood paneled the same as the living room with hardwood floors and the paintings were in the same style as well.

There was a bathroom adjacent to the room with the door slightly ajar, John went over quickly and positioned himself low to the floor and kneeled before pushing it open, holding his gun at the ready.

Again, there was nothing that seemed out of the ordinary but there was a door on the opposite side of the room which was closed. He figured it to be a closet.

He walked inside and looked for anything personal that could tell them who owned the house... but the only thing he found that was out of the ordinary was a barber’s cup with a lathering brush inside of it and a straight razor which sat next to the sink.

An antique lion paw tub caught his eye. It was obviously very old and beautifully crafted as was the living room and bedroom furniture. Whoever owned the house apparently favored antique furnishings as everything up to this point he’d seen was very old.

He desperately wanted to investigate what was behind the closed door but had to get back to his partner. He wouldn’t make the mistake of letting him disappear on him a second time.

He walked back to the doorway and looked down the hall.

Now they could see that the staircase along the same side as the living room wall leading up to the second floor. Two more rooms were beyond it, one he assumed was the kitchen and possibly another bedroom across from it. He supposed now that was where the other door that was in the bathroom led.

John walked across the foyer and made his way back to the living room. He and Harold would look through the house together now; John wouldn’t leave his partner alone again. The footsteps were a complete mystery. He shook his head in confusion.

“Well, at least we have light now…” John began as he went through the doorway. Harold wasn’t there and he felt his heart leap to his throat. Where in the hell did he go?

“Finch!” he yelled out into the hallway, “Damn it Harold…! Where are you?” He yelled upstairs.

He must have misunderstood the reason he heard the gasp from Harold a few moments ago. It must not have been a surprised intake of breath… maybe he had been taken unaware and struggled.

But there was nothing out of place in the room… but wait, yes there was something different.

John walked over to the coffee table. The teapot that now sat there was not the same. It was a blue patterned one now, as opposed to the green one that sat there before it.

John picked it up and was shocked to find that it was hot. It was as if it been recently set there and the two matching cups and saucers were each filled hallway. It was as if that they had been recently drank by someone.

His mind was playing tricks on him, surely. There was no other explanation for it and now Finch was missing again.

He felt a sense of foreboding that made his stomach roil with apprehension.

John had to search the house carefully now and find Harold again. He couldn’t wait to get him back safe and sound to the library. He would drag him out of that house when he found him again if he had to.

He was becoming more frantic by the second. What happened to make Harold gasp as he had? He now felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t checked on Finch initially, right after he’d heard him.

Then as he walked to the doorway of the room John distinctly heard the sound of children giggling; the noise was coming from outside the house.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he then heard a woman’s voice sounding from far away, shouting, _“John Phillip Greer! Get inside this house this instance! We have to hurry, they’re coming!"_

‘What the hell?' John thought to himself anxiously.

He didn’t know what compelled him but he looked at his watch, it now read three am and it was still pitch black outside.

He wasted no more time as he rushed down the hallway to the room on the left first. Who had he just heard and where did it come from? But most importantly, where was Finch!?

When he got to the room, he’d been right, it was another bedroom… but no one was in it. He hardly took a second look before he crossed back across the hall to the next room.

It was a kitchen as he had also suspected but still there was no sign of Harold. He took note absently that all of the appliances in the room where outdated, antique like the rest of the furnishings and moved on.

John ran back to the staircase and took the creaky steps two at a time until he got near the landing.

He slowed his frantic pace and took the last four steps cautiously and as quietly as he could while his heart pounded hard in his chest in worry for his partner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I didn't get this finished before midnight on the 31st for reasons beyond my control but I figured that a small chapter is better than nothing. Thanks to everyone for hanging in there with me, comments are always appreciated and I hope that everyone that enjoys Halloween has had a good one, thanks!

The whole case, from the time they got the first scrap of information, to the time they got on the road, up to this very minute... was off somehow. 

John couldn’t figure out what it was and for the first time in all his experience as an Army Ranger and undercover operative combined, he was at a complete loss as to what was happening to them. 

The only thing he was sure of at this point was that once he found Harold again he would move heaven and earth to get his partner out of there safely and in one piece. 

As far as he was concerned, there was no other objective important enough to come close to that. As soon as he found Harold and it was light enough outside to see more than five foot in front of them they were leaving that house. 

Come hell or high water that was it. He’d had enough of the strange and unsettling place and couldn’t wait to get them both the hell away from it as quickly as he could.

When he got to the second floor, he saw through the dimly lit space that there were four rooms to investigate. The doors to each were closed except for the one furthest away from the stairs and he moved quietly to check that room first. 

When he got to the entrance of what appeared to be a sitting room with bookshelves lining the walls floor to ceiling in the same way as below. John stopped just short of the doorway and looked inside the shadowy room. 

He could see that Finch was once again by himself, sitting motionless in one of two large armchairs and staring into another rather large fireplace. 

His partner stared, spellbound by the blaze that danced vigorously in its hearth and seemed to be in a dream state, completely unaware and uninterested in his surroundings. 

John felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck from the sheer lack of response in his partner’s manner and posture. 

Harold was there in body... but it was clear to John that he was off somewhere else in his mind. 

He sat there unblinking and peered into the fire and was in some sort of dream state or trance; the same faraway look was back and Harold was solely engrossed in the flames. The blank look on his face reminded John of something straight out of a horror film. 

He walked up to Harold quietly and moved around to stand directly in front of him. 

Using his body to block the sight of the flames, John watched Finch’s face and eyes and witnessed the focus gradually coming back to him as the spell of the fire loosened its grip on his partner. Harold blinked a few times then looked up and into John’s eyes, awareness finally sinking in him.

“What’s happening to me, John?” Harold knew there was something was going on with him and couldn’t for the life of him figure it out.

“What do you remember Finch?” John could see the strain of exhaustion taking hold again, wearing Harold down relentlessly and he wished he knew what to tell him.

Harold closed his eyes and tried to remember, “I was talking to Greer again… he was trying to tell me something… something about his past.” Finch furrowed his brows and tried harder to grasp the fleeting memory but he couldn’t hold on to it. He shook his head in irritation, “It’s gone John. I can’t remember anything specific, just Greer’s presence. I’m sure we were talking, just like we were the first time but I can’t recall a single detail of either conversation now.”

“Do you remember how you got up here? John asked, “I heard you make a sound when we were downstairs... like you’d been surprised or something. Do you know what I’m talking about?” 

Finch was getting agitated as he looked around the unfamiliar room, “I couldn’t even have told you that we were in a different room now if my life depended on it, John. I have no clue how I got here.”

“Well, we’re getting out of here just as soon as there’s a hint of daylight Finch. I won’t have you disappearing on me again; it’s not gonna happen a third time.”

“We’ll have to wait and see how much energy I can muster to hike through the woods then.” Harold sat back into the comfortable old chair and closed his eyes. “I feel wrung out John, just completely spent... like I’ve run a marathon.” 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” John replied. “Try and get some rest. I’ll keep my ears open and my eyes peeled.” John smiled and sat down in the other chair and rested his gun in his hand. He watched the door closely. 

“But what about the rest of the house? I thought you wanted to see if there’s anything that could answer any of our questions.” 

“I’ve already told you Finch… I’m not leaving you alone, not again.”

Just as the last word left John’s lips they heard something coming from the room next to the one they were in.

John looked at Finch in alarm, “Does that sound like someone jumping up and down on a bed to you?”

Harold returned the puzzled look on John’s face, “Yes I can hear it loud and clear, there’s no mistaking the sound of bedsprings being ill-treated… we have to see what’s going on and we have to do it now.”


	8. Chapter 8

John helped Harold steady himself as he got to his feet.

The strain that had been put on Harold’s body the past few hours had taken its toll on his already tired and weary bones.

John felt a twinge of sympathy when he saw the expression of pain and fatigue in Finch’s eyes, and when he stood, John reflexively offered his arm for support.

Harold didn’t miss the worry in his partner’s face and needed to tamp down John’s concern quickly and decisively, “We have to get answers, John… I’ll be fine.”

John nodded in compliance, knowing that Harold didn’t take kindly to the acknowledgment of his disabilities.

“I’ll rest when we get out of this place and back to normality again.”

Finch wanted John to know that he understood the gesture wasn’t meant as a slight to him and grasped firmly onto John’s arm for a moment until he felt ready to move on his own.

The distinct sound of bedsprings they were hearing continuously, was soon joined by a child’s voice giggling and singing distantly, _‘London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down my fair lady…’_

This was quickly followed by a vigorous and unnerving laughter that sent chills through them both.

John looked at Harold and it was instantly confirmed that he wasn’t the only one hearing things.

Harold’s eyes met his and widened as the fanciful, eerie tune went on with unsettling amusement in the youngsters' voice.

When Harold was steady, they walked quietly to the door and John opened it. They looked out into the vacant hallway.

John cautiously peeked out and he held his gun at the ready.

There was no one in sight, John opened the door and went out first to confirm it was safe for Finch to follow.

Harold followed and they stopped in front of the door that all the sound was coming from.

John turned to his partner and whispered, “Stand back. I have to make sure it’s safe before we go inside.”

The sounds and singing continued and got louder as they stood there uneasily, anticipating and dreading at the same time whatever was on the other side.

Harold nodded his readiness and John turned the doorknob to crack the door open fractionally, his gun firmly held in his hand ready for anything.

As soon as the door moved, all noise abruptly stopped into dead silence.

Harold instinctively put his hand on John’s wrist and looked at him in alarm. “Let me go in first,” John said resolutely, “you stay put until I tell you to, Finch.”

Harold didn’t dare argue with the order.

John would not be swayed and he knew it. “Alright but be careful,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t want to have to haul you out of this godforsaken place by myself.”

Harold grinned and the tension in John’s posture relaxed a bit, “I agree. I’ve been putting on a little weight lately,” he replied quietly and grinned back.

John motioned for Harold to stand against the wall to the left of the doorway. When he was in position, John slowly and cautiously swung the door open while he stood stationary on the right side of it, gun still drawn.

Harold watched John’s face keenly for any reaction to what he was seeing that he might be able to gage. What he saw was confusion. John brought his gun down to his side and looked at Harold in astonishment.

“What is it?” he asked anxiously.

John shook his head in disbelief, “Absolutely... nothing…” John turned and walked inside the dimly lit and empty room.

Harold followed.

They stood just inside and looked around.

The room was completely different than any they had yet seen. The most striking and obvious difference being that the walls were covered with light-colored, animal themed wallpaper as opposed to dark wood paneling that had been prevalent throughout the parts of the house that they’d seen so far.

There was a bed as they had suspected, but it was perfectly made up. There wasn't a line or crease in the blanket that covered it.

There was no way anyone could have sat on it, much less have been jumping up and down on top of it without leaving any evidence whatsoever. It was a complete mystery.

Harold walked over to the open closet and rifled through the threadbare young boys clothing that hung inside.

John looked through the dresser that sat opposite the bed against the wall that was filled with underclothes and socks. Neither one of them found anything besides outdated and well-worn old clothing that seemingly belonged to a bygone era.

The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a nightstand beside the bed and an old writing desk with a chair pushed beneath it.

John opened the nightstand drawer and found nothing inside; while Harold opened the drawer to the desk and found sketches assumedly drawn by a child.

He pulled them out and called John over to see them for himself.

“This is getting stranger by the minute, John. Let’s have some more light please.” John took the flashlight from his coat pocket and shone it on the drawings.

They were sketches of old British warplanes, bombers, and fighters and also ships that carried weapons and missiles.

“John, do you know what this means?” John shook his head, “I have no idea… do you?” he replied, puzzled by the content of what was displayed.

“I don’t really know for sure of course but… by the looks of things, I don’t think anyone has been in this house since World War II.” Harold’s utter mystification threw John for a loop. “Moreover, this entire house seems as though it’s been transported through time…” Harold looked at John uneasily, “or we have.”

“But we heard other people in the house, Finch… I heard a women’s voice downstairs and a child laughing outside and you just heard a kid playing and singing in this very room. How can you say that?”

“I can’t explain it, but look around.” Harold motioned to the clothing in the closet and the drawers in the dresser. “Even the lighting in the house is from that period of history, John. The bulbs have filaments in them… that technology hasn't been used for decades now.”

They both looked around still confused by all of the antiquated contents in the room. John shook his head, “Maybe whoever owns the place just likes that era for some strange reason.” he offered. “The appliances in the kitchen, hell even the shaving paraphernalia in the bathroom... the straight razor and old mirrors, the tub right down to the fixtures, are all of that time period as well.”

Harold raised his eyebrows, “Yes, someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make it inordinately accurate if that's the case. So what do you make of it then?”

Just as John was about to acknowledge he had no idea what he made of it, they heard a door latch opening just down the hall.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this this has been worth the wait. Thank you to everyone who stuck it out. All comments are appreciated.

“Stay behind me,” John whispered. Harold absently rolled up the drawings and stuffed them inside his inner suitcoat pocket and they made their way to the door.

John looked down the hall. The door nearest the staircase now stood open. He looked behind him at his partner and whispered. “Finch, I want you in my sight and I want you to stay right here in the doorway. If I say the word I want you to shut the door and lock it, do you understand me?”

“I do understand you John but I’m afraid that won’t be happening unless you’re planning to be in the room with me.”

“Damn it Harold! I need you safe and that can’t happen if you’re in trouble too.” John tried to reason with him but Harold was steadfast in his decision.

John exhaled in frustration, “Alright, just wait here for me and watch for my signal.” 

“John… I won’t be coddled. If I can help in any way, I need you to tell me what I can do to help you keep us both as safe as possible.”

Finch’s sharp retort was a clear indication that John didn’t stand a chance of changing his partner’s stubborn determination on the matter. He reluctantly agreed with an exasperated nod and turned to leave the room… that’s when they heard the voices.

John swiftly looked back at Harold who raised his hand to still him. “Be quiet…” he asserted.

 _'Listen to me closely John John'_ the woman’s voice was frantic, ‘ _we have to get out now while we’re still able to. They’ll be here any minute and you’ve been wasting time!’_ she cried.

The two men listened intently, afraid for the woman whose voice revealed fear and desperation so profound they were both immediately concerned for her well-being.

 _‘Yes, mummy… I’m sorry,_ ’ the boy answered mournfully.

“That’s the same boy that was just in here singing,” Harold whispered anxiously.

“John, we have to do something. We can’t just stand here! We have to help them!” Finch started to leave the room but John stopped him, blocking the doorway with his body.

“Finch, we have to wait a minute.” Harold looked at John heatedly, “She’s at her wit's end John, we have to go to her… we have to find out what the hell’s going on here!”

“Harold! Just stop! Just wait a minute. We need more information!” John whispered harshly while Harold glared back at him. The conversation went on in the other room as they listened further.

‘ _I don’t want your father to have died for us in vain.’_ Reese recognized the woman’s voice.

It was the same voice from downstairs and Harold saw the acknowledgment of familiarity in his partner’s eyes.

“You’ve heard her voice before?” Harold affirmed.

John nodded, “I wonder who she’s talking about?” He looked at his partner, “She said something about ‘them’ coming earlier when I heard her yelling at the boy, he was outside playing. Who is she so afraid of?”

‘ _Oh my God!_ ’ They heard her wail, _‘It’s too late! They’re here…!’_

Suddenly Harold and John heard the faint sound of multiple propeller driven aircraft approaching from the distance… getting progressively louder as the seconds ticked by.

“We have to get them out of here!” Harold pushed past John and they headed for the room.

In the midst of haste and confusion on both of their parts and before either of them made it to the room nearest the stairs, the distinct whistling of bombs being dropped, the sound of air displacement as they approached from directly above them, could be heard.

There was no time to do anything before the burst of impact was on top of them.

“Harold!” John called for his partner above the commotion and watched in horror as the ceiling began to fall down on top them.

Finch tried to get to the wall to support his weakened body and John watched in horror as a smoldering beam fell on top of him, knocking him down and pinning his unconscious body to the floor beneath it.

John was unable to get past the debris of planks and slabs of burning wood and disintegrating concrete to help him or anyone else for that matter.

The woman’s screams and the boy’s cries were ringing in his ears until, at last, John heard nothing more.

#

He awoke groggily with a crick in his neck.

He opened his eyes to find himself sitting uncomfortably in one of the old armchair’s in the room he’d first found Harold in. He felt dazed as tried to recall what the last thing he could remember was. It was too slow to come back.

There was faint daylight now filtering through the old grimy windows and he turned his aching head to look around the room.

There was his partner, out cold in the armchair next to his sitting in front of the fireplace that was cold and unlit.

The coffee table sat there as it had been before, still with the teapot and cups and saucers and he noticed fleetingly that there was a thick coating of dust covering everything.

Then it dawned on him. The house had been bombed… Harold had been knocked out, pinned under fiery debris.

He looked Harold over from where he sat, too mixed up to move quite yet, finding nothing unusual in his clothing. There were no soot stains or burns to be found on his suit or his body.

Harold was as immaculately dressed as ever and seemed to be sleeping. He watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and breathed a sigh of relief to find him alive and seemingly unharmed.

“Harold…?” John found his voice scratchy and sore and was hardly able to make a sound. He cleared his dry throat and tried again. “Finch?”

“Hmm…?” was Harold’s sleepy reply.

Harold opened his eyes and winced at the sharp pain in his fused vertebrae when he turned his head too far without thinking.

He looked at John, puzzled, the same way John felt.

“What’s happened?” he asked dazed. “Weren’t we upstairs? What about the planes and the bombing? I felt the roof come down on me… the impact and the heat.” Harold looked down at himself in disbelief, “Was I dreaming?” he asked, astounded that there were no visible signs of what he’d remembered happening to them.

John shook his head as he tried to recall the last thing he remembered. “I have no idea how we got down here and yes you were injured by the roof caving in after the house was bombed… but we still seem to be alive.”

John stood from the chair and went to the fireplace. “The fire’s gone out.” He put his hand inside the hearth to find it completely cold. “There should be some residual heat here, but there’s nothing.”

Harold looked around the room to find everything intact, nothing out of place and was seriously bothered by the lack of evidence that anything had happened.

Then suddenly it all came back to him. “John! The woman and the boy!” He pried himself up from the chair as quickly as his stiff and weary body could move, “We have to find them.”

They went to the hallway and looked around the foyer. Again, nothing seemed out of place as they both stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked up to the top of the landing.

“Where’s all the debris?” John mused out loud.

Harold shook his head and started up the stairs, John’s hand shot out and stopped him. “Let me go first.”

Harold acquiesced and allowed John to walk past him then followed just behind him, bracing himself against the wall as they ascended cautiously.

As they got closer to the top of the staircase John stopped suddenly, almost causing Harold to walk into him. Harold was two steps behind John and too short to see past him at what had impeded John’s progress.

“What is it?” he asked anxiously, “Is it safe to continue?” John was speechless and Harold didn’t understand why and quickly got irritated.

“They could still be up there, we have to find them quickly John. There’s no telling what kind of injuries they could have sustained from the bombing!”

John turned and looked straight at his partner, bewilderment permeating every line in his face.

“John! Are you alright? What’s wrong with you?” Harold’s concern turned into astonishment as John let him go up past him on the stairs and he too stopped when he saw for himself what had halted John dead in his tracks.

“Where’s the damage?” They looked at each other in disbelief, “This is impossible John… there should be nothing left up here but wreckage.”

They continued further up in a state of shock until they got to the top and stood in bewilderment. Harold finally found his voice, “Hello?” he called out. “Is there anyone here?”

They stood for a few moments more and gaped at the ceiling and undamaged floors and walls. John walked over to the door where the woman and boy had been heard and opened it slowly while looking through the crack, Harold followed close behind.

He pulled the gun around from the small of his back, just in case, and pushed the door open fully, revealing the room.

It was another bedroom. Clearly it belonged to the boy’s parents as it was decorated in both, a masculine influence with the same rich, dark wood paneled walls but also a woman’s touch exemplified with ivory laced curtains with blue pastel accents and matching bed clothes.

They let themselves inside the room and John went directly to the closet, opening it to reveal vintage 1940’s clothing.

Harold walked over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. It was empty except for a single post marked envelope dated November 9th, 1941.

“John…” Harold walked towards him with the envelope in hand and glanced inside the closet. The clothing was pristine, as if it were newly tailored and Harold was in awe of the detail.

Harold pulled the letter out and unfolded it.

The letter read,  
_My darling, we leave in two hours to lend support to our comrades in the north of France. I’m afraid that this will most likely be my last letter to you. I wish with all my heart that it wouldn’t be so, but we both know that the likelihood of my safe return to you will be nearly impossible. You need to know and always remember just how much I have loved you. The two most joyous days in my life were the day we married and the day you gave me our son. Please tell him how much pride his father had in him and how much I loved him. Please instill in him that he must always be a Good Samaritan and seek ways to help his fellow man. I must go now my love, never forget me._  
_Yours forever, John._

John looked at it and scratched his head. “I wish we knew what the hell we’re doing here Finch. I don’t think there’s anyone here now… not anymore.”

Harold nodded in thought, “We should check the rest of the house for anything that might give us some understanding of what’s going on. I’ll finish here if you want to take the downstairs.”

“No way, Harold. We do this together or not at all.” Harold looked at John and smirked.

“Let’s go then.” Harold pulled his phone out of his pocket, “I’ll just get a few pictures for the file.”

“John… is your phone working?” Harold tried again to power his on to no avail.

“Mine’s completely dead too.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to charge them in the car… if we can ever find it again.” Harold slid his back into his pocket and John did the same.

It took them the better part of an hour as they went through the house thoroughly and found nothing else. Not a scrap of anything else that explained why they were there in the first place.

“Well, I think if I’m going to have any chance of making it back through the woods on my own, we should start out now John. Hopefully, we’ll find the car sooner rather than later,” he said after he noticed daylight was starting to peek through the windows.

Harold took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the trek. “Do you have any idea how far you traveled?”

John shook his head as he opened the front door, “Not really, I…” he cut himself off immediately when he saw the car sitting in front of the house.

“What the…?”

It sat on a dirt road that ran around and through an opening in the trees. That was astounding enough on its own but the most astonishing thing about it was that it was running.

They looked at each other and couldn’t believe their eyes. John ran over and opened the driver’s side door and looked inside.

Harold limped over as fast as he could and went around the passenger side.

“How can this be happening? Finch… look... the gas gauge says it’s full.” John was floored, as was Harold.

“Are you sure you didn’t drive here, John?” Harold asked bewildered.

“I’m sure, and even if I had, the car is running, Finch! And it’s full of gas!” They just looked at each other dumbfounded.

“Get in and let’s get the hell out of here!”

Once they sat inside and buckled themselves in, they took a long look at the mysterious house that looked as it belonged in a different time and place.

“I want to go over the case again with a fine-toothed comb when we get back to the library.”

John looked at Finch, “If we get back,” he replied somberly.

“Don’t even joke about it, John.”

“Who said I was joking?” John mumbled under his breath.

Harold pretended not to hear him.

They started down the drive and John looked in the rearview mirror and slammed on the brakes.

“What the hell, John!” Harold winced and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Harold… it’s gone,” John replied with incredulity.

“What’s gone?”

“Look behind us.”

Harold flipped the sun visor down and looked in the mirror. “What…?” He turned his whole body around in the seat to look behind them at nothing but a dirt road.

“John…” he started, “just drive.”

John did as he was told, and they started back down the dirt road surrounded by trees in silence until it opened up onto the lonely stretch of highway they came in on.

Harold breathed in relief. “At least we’re out of the woods…” he sighed, “literally.”

“Yeah, let’s keep our fingers crossed that we make it back,” John chuckled nervously.

They were both lost in their own thoughts and got back to the city and familiar territory quickly.

It seemed as though it had only taken a fraction of the time to get back as it had to get to the old house and the library was a welcomed sight.

They made it up the stairs and as bone tired as he was, Harold made for his desk and sat down and asked wearily, “Did that really just happen?”

John shook his head, “I’m finding it hard to believe too.” He walked to the glass board to look at the information they had left up when they left the morning before.

The whole experience was eating at them and they both wanted to work it out as soon as possible for their own sanity.

“Finch? Did you take the stuff down before we left?” John looked at the floor thinking it may have come loose and fallen off but found nothing.

 

Harold didn’t answer, and John turned to see him transfixed to the monitor in front of him, “Harold?”

John walked over and saw what was drawing Harold’s attention.

There on the screen was an old newspaper article dating back to the end of World War Two. Though it was mostly in ruins, they could tell that the grainy photo shown was the same house they had just spent the last 24 hours in.

What there was of the article relayed that the house was only half standing after being one of the last of its kind bombed in that area of the English countryside.

The photo also showed a woman and her young son standing in the background just outside the residence looking at the smoldering rubble that had once been their home.

The caption read: Mrs. John Greer and son immediately following the aftermath of the bombing.

The remainder of the article was missing.

Harold looked up at John, speechless.

John returned the blank stare until Harold suddenly remembered something.

He quickly felt the outer breast pocket of his suit and found the slight distension. He opened his jacket and pulled out the drawings he’d absently put inside it from the boy's room at the house and laid them out on the desk.

They still were there, the illustrations of the planes and warships.

He turned them over and then they saw something that had been missed the first time he looked at them.

Harold and John both read; in complete shock, in the same child’s hand, the oath written over and over again…

_‘I must always be a good a Good Samaritan. Good Samaritan’s always find a way to Decimate their enemy.’ I must always be a good a Good Samaritan. Good Samaritan’s always finds a way to Decimate their enemy…’_

“My God…” Finch responded. John looked at him, understanding what the words meant and voiced it out loud.

“Greer had Samaritan and Decima locked away in his brain since he was a kid.”

Harold nodded. “And he found a way to bring his twisted idea into being.”

“But why did The Machine send us his number and point us to a house that had been destroyed in England so long ago?” he went on… “How did it get here and what was the purpose of this whole ordeal?”

“It’s a mystery John… one that may never be answered. I guess all we can do is forget about it until The Machine decides if it’s going to divulge anything more.” Harold stared at the monitor, lost in thought.

John nodded, “You’re right… I don’t know about you but I’m going to get some sleep just in case we get sent out looking for another dead man.” John chuckled and turned to leave.

Harold stood up and followed him, “I think I’ll do the same. I think we’ve both earned it.”

They both went to leave and get some much needed rest and while they descended the stairs another photograph appeared on the main monitor.

It was a picture from the 1960’s of John Greer. Beside it was another picture of a building from a distance, blurry and nondescript except for one identifying feature. It was out in the middle of nowhere… surrounded by trees…

THE END


End file.
